


A Colonial Matriarchy

by Mae_Liz



Series: Bonds, Blades, and Blood [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed III, Caring Haytham Kenway, Haytham Kenway's A+ Parenting, Mild Freeform, Multi, Other, confused Connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-03-27 22:05:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13890084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mae_Liz/pseuds/Mae_Liz
Summary: Sometimes Assassins break more than just bones.(Freeform tag is there because Connor is stoic as shit and I'm bad at writing people with no emotions.)





	1. Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fic I've been sitting on for just over a year, but I decided to finally get if off my tablet and out into the world. This chapter and the next chapter were written way back when, so in some twisted attempt at preserving their purity, I haven't edited them much. Just a few grammar fixes here and there. I don't have a beta-reader for this series, so if you notice any mistakes or issues, feel free to drop a comment.
> 
> Edit:This story gets much more 'readable' in chapter 3, I promise

Despite the maturity and humility the Creed had taught him, there were times when Connor was not above his pride. Even when laying in an alley on a stormy April afternoon, with his right arm bent at an unearthly angle, he found that it soothed his aching ego to blame the fall on the rain-soaked rooftops rather than his distracted mind. Yes, the recent dealings with his father had certainly taken a toll on his focus. Perhaps that was the Grand Master’s plan. If Haytham hadn't the heart to kill his son, his own flesh and blood, then maybe he'd be content in driving the boy to an accidental death.

But the young man could hardly care about Templar conspiracies as the ache in his forearm shot up into his shoulder from the attempt to climb to his feet. A quiet curse escaped his lips when he finally managed to sit up and lean his back against the building from which he fell; all with the runny earth sinking beneath him. It would take at least two washes to get out the caked on mud from his robes, and with Connor's new self-assigned responsibility of babysitting his father, that was simply time he did not have. With an indignant huff he finally managed to stand and pull his hood up to shield his face from the rain. Times like this made Connor thankful that Boston's storms could chase people indoors. Most people, anyway.

When a cloaked figure approached on horseback, the young Assassin reflexively unsheathed his hidden blade. While the grimace was hidden by his own cowl, he could do nothing to conceal how quickly his left hand shot over to hold his injured arm, and the involuntary action did nothing to dull the agony that coursed through his nerves. Connor ultimately took a step back when the person offered an outstretched arm, which only prompted the stranger to remove their hood. The rider was revealed as a woman, who, by the general shape of her face and size of her hand, was smaller than the bulky cape made her appear at first glance. Still, with the ache in his arm reminding him of his compromising position, the Iroquois kept his guard.

“Come. That arm needs a splint. My home is just a short ride from here." Connor looked skeptically at her and she reached her hand out further, beseeching him to take it. “I only wish to help you.” At her soft assurance, the Assassin decided that there could have been worse options given him, and took her hand. He was pleasantly surprised at the woman's sturdiness atop her horse as it allowed him the much needed leverage to mount up behind her without necessitating his injured limb. “I'm Beth, by the way.” She said, and Connor noted the burgundy color of her hair before she brought the hood up over her face again. “Beth Hurley.”

The young native hissed in a wince as the horse was prompted into a trot and the animal’s bouncing steps sent ripples of pain through his arm, causing him to hug it close to his torso. “My name is Connor.”

“May I ask what you were doing in an alley with a broken arm, Connor?” Her tone drew a sense of curiosity from the Assassin as it managed to seem exceedingly sweet and concerned while simultaneously demanding an answer; not unlike the women of his village when trying to guide their children.

“A simple misstep on a rooftop. Nothing too interesting.”

“Yes, in my experience it's best to avoid rooftops in weather such as this. The rain does nothing to aid in one's footing.”

“In your experience?” But Connor’s inquiry was never graced with an answer as they rode on in silence. He began to not only wonder why this strange woman seemed unconcerned about his business on the city rooftops, but what business of her own would require her presence on them as well. Unless she was just being sarcastic. He was shaken from his thoughts, however, when he realized that they were straying farther from Boston, and in a direction he hadn't normally travelled.

“Just up ahead.” Beth nodded to the manor in front of them. It seemed an unnecessary action as it was the only house in sight. The acres between the manor and tree line were taken up by neat lawns and freshly tilled fields. Not even the rain could distract from the estate’s immaculate condition. 

“It is a beautiful property.”

“Well thank you. That's very kind of you to say.” The woman's smile was tangible through her words as the horse was steadied and a young stable hand hurried over; helping the woman dismount, while Connor slid off the beast before any aid could be offered to him. “Be sure he’s dried and given something warm to eat.” Beth instructed of the boy and fixed his cap. “Then see the same to yourself, Toby. This god awful weather is taking its toll on all of us.” She waited for an affirmation from the lad before motioning for the Assassin to follow her up onto the covered porch. “Right this way.”

As Beth removed her sopping cloak from her form, it became clear how the young woman had managed to counter Connor’s weight earlier; and he mentally scolded himself for not taking note of her mounted posture at the time.

“It's not too common to see a woman wearing trousers.” He noted as his hostess hung her cloak outside the door and rung out her hair.

“And it's not every day that I find a man laying in the mud.” The tone in her words made Connor conclude that his choice of phrasing may not have been the most polite.

“I mean that it's a pleasant surprise.” He added, hoping to smooth whatever tension he had infused into the air as she squeezed out the coat he was still wearing. Beth continued to wring handfuls of his wet clothes, letting the contents poor onto the hardwood until she was satisfied he would not track a river into her home. “I did not intend to insult you…” Connor’s second attempt at a roundabout apology hung in the air as the red head offered him a soft and forgiving smile before opening the door.

“Let's take a look at that arm, shall we?” She led Connor through the foyer and past a small washroom before stopping in the parlor to help him remove his robes. Despite her best efforts to placate the man’s injury, Connor still clenched his jaw in pain as he straightened his arm for Beth to remove his coat. “Settle in while I get a few things to stabilize that.” She hung his outerwear beside the fireplace to dry. “The warmth should help ease the pain.” With a nod to the hearth, Beth left the room with Connor’s quiver and bow, bringing them to the foyer before searching for the items necessary to splint his arm.

Connor settled in the rocking chair near the fire after deciding that he was still too damp to comfortably sit on the neatly cushioned couch or armchairs that granted a homey feel to the large family room. He looked over the parlor for some insight into the life of the generous woman, but was offered little. There were no family portraits or crests on the walls, and what personal items did neatly litter the room were non distinguishable from other colonial families. There were two books on the parlor table, only one of which had a strip of cloth hanging out to mark where its reader had been last, and a third book neatly placed on the trunk beside the larger of the two arm chairs. 

It didn't go unnoticed by the Assassin that this particular seat was angled more toward the couch than the rest of the room. The arms were also smooth and worn. As if whoever spent their time in it ran their hands continuously along the wood. After taking stock of that in front of him, Connor turned the rocking chair around to face the fire, noting the small bundle of dying flowers laying on the mantle as Beth announced her return.

“Here we are.” The woman walked over to him with a few rolls of linen and two small wooden planks. She set the supplies on the floor beside the young man and removed his gauntlets while seeming not to notice his unease at the action. After placing the pair of disguised weapons on the mantle, Beth ran deft fingers along the Assassin’s forearm and mentally took note of how he subconsciously tensed with discomfort when she neared his elbow. “It's definitely broken.”

“Have you had med-” Connor’s question was interrupted by his own harsh groan as his eyes closed in pain when the woman reset his fractured ulna.

“Not necessarily.” She told him, while bracing the injury between the two splints and shifting the boards until she was satisfied with their position. “The owner of the house is no stranger to injury, and yours is far from the first bone I've set.” Beth finished binding the brace with several sashes before stepping back to inspect her work. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour, you're welcome to rest upstairs until then.”

“I appreciate your help…” Connor started as he stood, acclimating to the new weight of his arm. “But I really can't stay any longer.”

“Nonsense. The rain will do you no good, and the only thing that will help your arm is rest.”

The Assassin cleared his throat and tried to take his leave again. “I'm not sure Mr. Hurley would approve of a stranger staying in his house while he is away. I thank you for your trouble and will be sure to repay your kindness.”

“If it's a man you're afraid of offending, then know that the head of this household is not due back until the day after tomorrow. Until then, I oversee the manor.” She said bluntly. “If you are set on evening your debt to me then do so by staying, if not simply for dinner, so that you do not injure yourself further.” 

In a mix of shock at the woman's exasperation and frustration at her insistence, Connor agreed to stay for the meal. “After that I must be on my way, though.” He added and watched her remove the hidden blades from the mantle. “Regardless of the rain.”

“Very good, there is just one more thing to address then.” She hummed and waved for him to follow as she headed toward the entryway. “This way, please.” Connor raised a brow but followed nonetheless. His eyes remained trained on Beth as she opened the trunk beside the door and dropped his gauntlets in. “Your weapon belt if you please.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Absolutely not.”

“I do not like weapons in my home, Connor. You will get them back when you leave. I promise. Until then, I ask that you leave them here. They'll be safe.” Beth's words lacked the commanding assertion that she had used since finding Connor in the alley, and it was almost as if she was pleading with the Assassin to fulfill her request. It made him realize that his hostess was genuinely afraid of the collection around his waist; and he placed his belt beside his bow and quiver, with his pistol and tomahawk atop it all, inside the chest. “It's not anything against you personally.” Beth assured him as she closed and locked the lid. “I insist it upon the man of the house, as well as his company. A home is not an arsenal. There are enough forts around for that.” She mused and nodded toward the staircase. “Top of the stairs and immediately to the right. Make yourself comfortable.” Connor nodded at her instruction and headed up to the second floor. 

He looked out the window to the south as the rain continued its steady assault. Long shadows were being cast from the setting sun, and seeing the surrounding earth readying for the night seemed to trigger an exhaustion in Connor that he was previously unaware of. He slid off his moccasins and leggings to rid himself of the muddied clothes before heading toward the inviting bed. 

When he caught sight of himself in the vanity mirror he scrubbed a calloused hand down his face with a groan, not realizing just how filthy he had become when he fell from the rooftop. His shirt was smattered with sticky soil and the thighs of his pants made it seem as if he had been practically rolling in mud puddles. He stripped down further to his relatively clean undershirt and drawers before climbing under the blankets. An audible sigh escaped the Assassin as he was swallowed by the downy bedding and reveled in its comfort. 

As promised, within the hour Beth knocked softly on the bedroom door to fetch him for dinner. But the woman smiled softly to herself when she pushed the door open and saw the young man sleeping soundly. She closed the door and headed back downstairs to the dining room.

“Is he not going to join us?” Asked Molly, the plump middle aged cook who was all too happy to prepare a meal for someone new.

“Not tonight.” Beth hummed as she sat down. “The Creed doesn't value sleep the way it should; and if Connor can find enough peace here to sleep comfortably, then I won't dare interrupt him.”


	2. This Land Was Made For Ewe And Me

When Connor came downstairs he was met with the smell of baking bread and freshly brewed coffee. Stilling at the end of the stairs, he watched as the cook popped her head out of the dining room.

"Hello, hello!" Molly wiped her hands on her apron and cheerfully crossed the hardwood floor to greet the stranger. "We were wondering when you were goin' to wake up, Mr. Connor." The young Iroquois only looked at her with confusion. "Oh yes, do forgive my manners." She took Connor's left hand in both of her own and shook it sweetly. "Miss Beth is right outside waitin' for you." She gave his hand a final pat. "Come with me." The cook quickly waddled out the door and Connor followed after her in a haze of confusion. 

The shining spring sun proved to be a welcome follow-up to the previous day's dreadful rains. The air was light and comfortable, and the organic warmth eased the stiffness in Connor's injured arm that had set in as he slept. As they walked along the porch to the adjoining gazebo, the Assassin couldn't help but question if the woman ahead truly was the one who had found him the day prior. She appeared far too aristocratic. Still, despite the crisp peach gown and the elegant posture she held, the woman's merlot locks and strong green eyes assured Connor that she was indeed the Beth Hurley that had set his broken arm.

"Good morning, Connor." The redhead hummed and set her newspaper aside. "Nearly good day, in fact. I had almost wondered if you'd wake up at all before tomorrow." She teased with a sweet smile as the man sat across from her. "I see you've met, Mrs. Pierce, our cook." 

Connor watched the older woman head back down the porch and into the house. "She is very kind."

"Yes, Molly is quite the sweet woman. And an excellent cook, at that. Speaking of," She took a quick moment to fold her paper neatly to free some table space. "I hope you'll forgive me for not waking you for dinner last night. I came up to get you, but you were so unconscious I figured the rest would be more beneficial than the meal."

"I did need the sleep, thank you, and thank you for the change of clothes." He added and Beth's eyes trailed over him. Earlier in the morning she had gathered the clothes he discarded around the guest room so that they could be cleaned. After some deliberation, she decided to lay out a fresh shirt for him, as well as a pair of trousers, stockings, and boots. The clothes themselves were army issue and Beth couldn't help but admit to herself that, with the change in style and tied back hair, Connor had a familiar handsomeness that she had been missing in the past week.

"I'm glad they fit. I figured they would, seeing as you appear to be the same size, but I wasn't completely sure." 

Connor raised a questioning brow. "Same size as who?"

"The Master of the house." Beth saw her guest open his mouth to object but continued before he could. "These are clothes he hasn't touched in ages. Give me some credit in all this. Making the owner of the estate mad at you would only make him mad at me; seeing as I'm the one who's having you here in the first place. And things do not run smoothly when he and I butt heads. I know what I'm doing."

"If it isn't your husband that owns the manor, then who-"

"I do hope you like eggs with ham, Mr. Connor." Molly sang in an unintended interruption as she walked over to them with a serving tray. "Miss Beth ate earlier, but I kept your breakfast warm for you. A young man needs to eat, you know." The Assassin smiled politely and helped her set the tray on the table as best he could while being thankful for his ambidexterity. The mix of scrambled eggs, diced ham, and hashed potatoes were a welcome sight to his hungry stomach. Especially since his usual diet was rations of salted meats and dried fruits to accommodate the suddenness and unknowns of his lifestyle.

"Thank you, Mrs. Pierce. This really is delicious."

"What a gentleman, this one." Molly giggled and patted Connor's hand with her eyes on Beth. The redhead merely gave her a knowing look.

"Yes, not unlike the master."

"Oh! Speaking of! He's not due back 'till tomorrow, but the hinge on Tilly's stall has come free again and poor Toby is beside himself thinkin' she'll get out."

"Again?" Beth sighed and poured herself half a cup of milk. "I told him before, the hinge needs to be replaced completely. We have spares for a reason." 

"I could replace the hinge." Connor said as he paused from his meal to pour himself a glass of water.

"Would you?" Beth seemed all too elated at the idea as she filled the remainder of her cup with coffee. "If you can show Toby how to replace it, that would be best. With the amount of traffic that goes through here, our hinges never last long enough. And it's something, as a stable hand, that he must be able to do." Her delighted smile seemed even brighter when the smattering of copper freckles around her face glistened under the shining sun, before it fell a bit and she leaned back in her chair. "Though I do know you were quite eager to leave yesterday..." The woman mindlessly played with the key around her neck, the sole item keeping him from his tools. "I wouldn't want to keep you. Especially not when you upheld your end and rested your injury."

Connor thought for a moment as he ate and watched Beth return her attention to her drink. His main incentive for leaving the previous night had been his desire to return to the Homestead. His father was out of town and there was no knowing just when the Templar leader would return. 

Yet, with this manor being so close to the city, it seemed wise to stay here. The possibility of Beth and her household getting caught up in the war between Templars and Assassins was regrettable, but having a place to turn to while he was injured was invaluable. Even with all his skills, he knew that there was only so much he could do while his arm still required a splint.

"I'm in Boston waiting for a business partner of mine to return." He said smoothly. "And this could be my way of actually repaying you for your care."

"Wonderful!" The redhead's face lit up again and Connor found himself smiling softly at her own happiness. He truly did find joy in helping people. "When you're done eating I'll introduce you to Toby. He can be a shy thing, but you're friendly enough." The Assassin nodded and watched as Beth got up from her chair and made her way back into the house, but he was too intent on finishing his meal to follow her.

When she did return a few minutes later it was with his full weapons belt and one hidden blade. She set the items in her chair and smoothed her dress as Connor finished his meal.

"Nothing can go on your right wrist until it's healed, I'm afraid." The woman mused as she pinned up her long trusses up loosely. "And I figured it would be difficult to draw a bow with only one proper arm. But there is no reason you can't have access to your weapons when you are outside of the house." She looked out onto the yard as she finished speaking, down the front path as if watching for something.

"Why is it you do not allow weapons in your home? With things the way they are, more and more people are guarding themselves."

"Things being the way they are," She repeated. "Is the reason I don't allow weapons indoors. Not here. There is already enough bloodshed, and too many reminders of it, to have pistols at my dinner table."

Connor watched her as he secured the weapons at his hips, properly holstering his gun and tomahawk as she continued to watch the front yard. "Is the owner of the home a soldier?" 

Beth's refined English accent had not gone beyond his noticing. He wasn't sure it could be considered posh, however it certainly wasn't the rough hybrid that most long-time colonists used. It was more than possible that the woman had kept the estates ownership a secret thus far due to the fact that the head of household was a commanding officer in the King's armed forces. A thought which set him more on edge than even his broken limb.

"He leads a militia of sorts." She said and turned to look at the Assassin once again, her eyes tracing over him as his shoulders visibly relaxed at her clarification. "With so many lobsterbacks running around, the men are constantly ready for a fight. But my home will not be made into a war-zone so long as I have a say in the matter."

He gave her a look of understanding and sympathy. Connor understood viewing the home as a sacred place. After the burning of his village he would be all but crushed if something were to ever threaten the Davenport Homestead. "I understand. Truly. I’ll do my best to respect your request."

Beth gave a small hum of appreciated before nodding to the back of the house. "Molly will clean up here, let’s go get that stall fixed, shall we?"

 

Toby was indeed shy, and it took a few minutes of Beth's assurances and Connor's promise of patience before the lad could have any semblance of conversation with the Assassin.

"I jus' open and close her stall so much that the hinges wear off." He explained as he walked with Connor from the storage shed. New hardware in hand. "She has so much energy and doesn't like being cooped up. I want to keep an eye on her, but I can't have her go everywhere with me."

The man raised a brow. "Why don't you put her in the corral during the day with the others?" 

"We tried that', but she kep' getting out the gate. It's only sized for horses." Connor was going to ask for clarification, but as they walked into the stables they were met with reluctant bleating. "Yes, yes Tilly. I'm righ' here." The boy sighed and jogged over to the broken stall. He had a feed barrel rolled up against the door to keep it steady, and rolled it away to get to his beloved pet. The door fell almost immediately as a little black, Leicester Longwool lamb pranced out, bleated at Toby, and nuzzled his hand before running over and bleating at Connor.

"So Tilly's a sheep." He stated with stifled laughter as Toby went over and placed a loose tie around the animal’s neck as a lead.

"Yeah. She was born ou' o' season. An' since she's got black wool, Farmer Perkins kep' goin' on and on about how she ain' worth much. An' her wool can't be dyed. But she was always sweet, and we all liked her jus' fine. Then he started in abou' how he couldn' sell her 'cause black sheep are rare, and then it was ‘it's a miracle she was born in the winter.’ But Miss Beth talked to him and he sold Tilly to her for 3 sterling, which is about the same as any other ewe lamb so..." The boy trailed off and rubbed behind the lambs ears, bringing another happy bleat to echo in the stables.

"We had better fix the door, then." Connor hummed as he ran his fingers through the lamb's soft wool. "We don't want her getting lost."

"No, Sir, we don'!" Toby agreed and secured Tilly's lead to a tack hook and moved the barrel sufficiently away from the stall. 

 

Connor had reinstalled the hinges with the boy, providing hands-on aid. The door was leveled and the hinge was set and nailed nicely before Beth, who had been lingering in the stable entry, made her way over to them. 

"If you're done with that, Toby, you can freshen up the guest stalls. And the Master's. There will be quite a bit of traffic through the manor once he gets home."

"Aye-aye, Captain!" He exclaimed happily and headed out with Tilly, bringing the lamb along as he went to fetch the proper tools.

"Dinner is at six, Connor. If you'd like to stay for it. The Master comes home tomorrow and I know you have your own business to attend to."

"I'd like to stay and meet him, if that would be alright, to thank him for the hospitality you’ve shown. However there is some business in Boston that I need to check on."

"You're a good man, Connor. I believe he'd very much want to meet you as well." She agreed and nodded toward the pasture. "You're welcome to take Deveroux into town if you'd like."

"Thank you, but it's a nice afternoon. The walk will do me good."

"If you insist." The woman tucked a few red strands behind her ear. "Your clothes are washed and in your room. Dinner's at six." She repeated on her way out.

 

"So what's your real name?" 

"Toby!" Beth's scolding tone was enough to make even the Assassin falter. 

"Well I just mean- Connor's a normal name. An English name. And you ain' English." Connor let a small, amused laugh escape his throat at the child's clear innocence at the inquiry. But his hostess was having none of it, well-meant or not.

"Tobias. Enough."

"My birth name is Ratonhnhaké:ton." He watched as Toby's face dropped at the pronunciation. "But my English name is Connor. It makes it easier for me to trade and travel within the Colonies. Some people are still uneasy about doing business with my people."

"That is such horse-shite."

"Tobias Matthew Gray!" Beth snapped and shot the boy a look that could only be described as that of a Gorgon. "That is absolutely enough. You do not speak that way. Especially in front of guests. Do you you understand me?"

The boy slunk down in his chair. "It's jus' so stupid. The whole natives are violen', thing. They didn't do anything wrong. The soldiers are the violen' ones, and they are suppose' to be protectin' people."

The woman sighed and took a sip of coffee in an attempt to calm her nerves at the stable boy's poor behavior. "Yes. It’s appalling at how some people can view others so negatively. But not everyone thinks so highly of their fellow man, and the Master would be the first to tell you that you can't fight small mindedness with poor manners."

Toby poked at his pork. "Yes, Ma'am..."

"The owner of the house seems like a decent man." Connor's comment earned a wordless nod from Beth before Toby quickly agreed.

"He really is. He's always polite to everyone who works here, and he's very nice to Miss Beth. He and Beth even took me in when my dad died in Boston."

"Boston?" The question escaped Connor's mouth before he could stop it, though the boy seemed rather unphased at the prying inquiry.

"Aye. My mum died when I was real little. Don' really know how, Pa never talked about it much. Jus' said that some ladies get really sick and don' feel well af'er havin' a baby sometimes. So I never knew her. Bu' when I was five, there was a figh' in the city, an' some soldiers fired into a crowd o' people. Pa was jus' in the wrong place a' the wrong time I guess." Toby finished the story with an apathetic shrug, but the tale seemed to disturb Beth more than the Assassin thought was necessary. After all, she'd likely heard it before. He concluded that, being a woman who was clearly opposed to conflict, it was the violence in the boy's explanation that made her uncomfortable.

"Be sure to give Molly any clothes of yours that need be washed." She instructed of the boy and changed the subject. "You won't be wearing something ratty if we go out tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, Ma'am." Toby continued his meal before looking from Connor to the woman. "How long is Mr. Connor staying with us?"

Beth hummed thoughtfully and looked up at the Assassin. "That is up to him."

"I will be staying at least until tomorrow." He promised while helping Molly clear the table. "Though after that, I cannot say for sure."

"Just be sure to rest your arm, Connor. You don't want to injure it further."

"Yes, and thank you again for tending to it."

"I'll show you how to splint it differently in the morning. I imagine you won't want something so bulky when you’re scrambling along rooftops."

Toby's attention was suddenly recaptured. "Rooftops? You broke your arm by falling off a roof? Only guards are allowed up there."

"And birds, and chimney sweeps, and young men trying to rescue cats from trees." Beth continued and shooed the boy off. "Now, it's time for you to get to bed, go wash up."

Connor watched the child hurry up the stairs."He's an inquisitive boy."

"He means well, and he doesn't take to many people. You're a good influence."

"It's kind of you to say so."

She gave a soft reassuring smile. "It's the truth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Toby and Tilly so much.
> 
> I haven't played the AC games in forever, but I do want to pick this back up. Soon enough there will be more bits added to this series through second story line focusing on Beth's past.


	3. Father Of Mine

The manor was beautiful. Spacious but homey, with more cleared land than the Homestead. It felt strange to Connor. To be staying at such an aristocratic house. Though not so strange so as to stop him from indulging.

Despite the occasional pesky rainstorm, springtime in Boston was tepid and soothing, and the Assassin allowed himself to get lost in the sunlight pouring through the window. If not for a little while, he could forget about his father and Templars. It was peaceful to look out at over the field. To watch Toby picking wildflowers in the mid morning sun while the little black lamb ran circles around him. Even if he was upstairs resting in his room, as Beth had so insisted upon, he could feel the grass beneath his feet and smell the freshness of the blossoms.

It wasn’t the sound of the front door opening that tore Connor from his trance. He was too far lost in his own tranquility to hear it. No, it was the sound of his hostess’ voice, loud and happy, that stirred him. For a second, he forgot about the injury and tried to stretch his arm. Only to groan in discomfort at the cold shooting to his hand.

Miss Hurley had done as promised and rebraced it with heavy fabric instead of boards, but he was still left severely limited. It took forever to pull on his shirt and vest. When he finally managed to make his way out of the room and to the top of the staircase, his whole body chilled. There, by the door, with one arm wrapped around Beth, was his father.

“Beth.”

The woman looked up the steps with that warm of smile of hers as he said her name. “Connor, there you are. This is Mr. Kenway. He’s the master of the house.”

Connor couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. How could a person so and kind and caring work for someone like _that_?

“Hello, son.”

The Assassin hated when the Grandmaster used that word. His mother had raised him and Achilles trained him. Haytham was his parentage but it meant nothing.

“I think I should go.” He huffed and plodded down the stairs. Working with the Templar was a necessary evil, but he didn’t need to share a roof with the man. The only thing standing between him and the exit was the key around Beth’s neck and he eyed it cautiously. He couldn’t leave without his weapons. 

The woman caught his gaze with a knowing hum. “If you try and rip it off my neck, you’ll regret it.”

“Why?” Connor scoffed and threw a nod towards his father. “Because of _him_?”

“Because I’ll break your other arm myself.”

“She means it, too.” Haytham warned. “Though _I_ would not take kindly to you assaulting her.” It was said in jest and Beth swatted his shoulder.

“Can’t you two put your differences aside for one-”

She cut off by Toby bursting through the door and leaping into the man’s arms. “Mr. Kenway!” 

“There’s the lad!” The Grandmaster said with a laugh as he caught the child. “I began to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“I was picking flowers for Miss Beth.” He explained and held out the bouquet of asters, buttercups, and poppies. 

“Very nice. I’m glad to see that you have been taking care our our lady while I was away.”

“She’s eating your coat again, dear.” Beth mused while rocking back on her heels to see the young ewe standing in the open doorway and chewing on the navy overcoat that had been hung up.

“Ah, Toby. Why don’t you go finish your chores and then we’ll head into the city this afternoon?”

“Alright.” The boy smiled, brightly, as he was set back down. “Come on, Tilly.”

Beth closed the door behind him and the three adults watched through the glass while Toby got further and further from the house. Once he was out of sight, Haytham cleared his throat and looked at the woman.

“Annabeth. Why the _hell_ is he here?”

“Connor broke his arm.”

“I can see that, but why is he here?”

“You knew who I was when you found me in that alley.” The Assassin cut in, though it wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I did, but-”

“This was a trap.” He scoffed and sneered at the Templar. “I never thought _you_ would use women and children.”

_“Me?_ This is the last place I want you. You being here puts her in danger!”

“Only because _you_ are dangerous!”

“Would both of you shut up?!” Beth hollered. “Honestly, you two are acting like children. This was not a trap, Connor.” She promised before turning to Haytham. “And he is here because I want him here. You two are so insistent on keeping an eye on each other — Well, here you go. I’ve just made that much easier for you.” Both men wanted to argue, but she was right. “Now… Molly’s drawn a bath upstairs, you’ve been riding all morning.”

The Templar could only huff as Connor stepped aside and watched him head upstairs. Once the washroom door closed, he all but glared at the woman.

“I’d like my things.”

“Of course, if you’re leaving.”

“Yes.” Beth removed the key from it’s resting place and unlocked the chest. “You should leave as well. He is dangerous.”

“I suppose he is.” She agreed. “As are you, but danger is relative and he would never harm me. Neither would you, I trust. Seeing as I’ve done nothing against you.”

Connor was surprised to see Haytham’s sword and pistol thrown haphazardly atop his things. It slipped his attention that the Grandmaster had disarmed himself, no doubt before he reached the stairs, earlier. Beth really did insist upon peace within her home.

It was tempting to stay. A broken arm would slow him down and the woman was right. It would be much easier to keep watch over the Templars from within their leader’s home. Still, the injury also made it more likely for _him_ to be the one attacked. With a single nod, Connor chose to carefully pull his weapons from the box and excuse himself.

Beth watched him through the window just as she had with Toby. Anxious for him to head down the road. When she was convinced he was far enough down the path, the woman raced upstairs. Haytham was still in the washroom, only just removing his shirt, when her interruption nearly startled him. 

“Anna. Is everything alright?” She didn’t answer and embraced him so harshly that he took a step back from the impact. He had been gone longer than he meant to be. Several days became several weeks. It was clear from her trembling that she feared something had happened to him.

 

“Is it really the best idea to be scrambling around with a broken limb?” Beth turned the page of her daily paper and received no response. Just the gentle blow of the wind and the chirping of songbirds. With an exasperated sigh she set the news aside and walked off the porch. It took a minute to find a properly sized stone in the drive, but when she did, she hurled it into the tree near the gazebo.

When it flew his way, Connor let go of the tree with his left arm to shield the broken one. The rock ended up hitting him in the right shoulder nonetheless, which caused him to lose his footing and sent him falling. Landing on his back knocked the wind out of him a bit, and by the time he was back on his feet, Beth was headed his way. Looking rather proud of herself.

“You could have just dropped by like a _normal_ person.” She teased and watched him reach for his tomahawk with his useable hand. “Easy, Connor. No one’s home except Molly and myself.”

“Where is _he_?” 

“In town with Toby. Just as he said he’d be, this morning. I hoped your curiosity would have been met for the day at least, but it seems not.” She sighed with a half shrug. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

“No.”

“Shame. Molly does love cooking for you, you charmed her rather quickly. Not unlike your father, actually.”

“Haytham Kenway is _not_ my-”

“He sired you.” Beth reminded, and Connor wasn’t sure how he felt about her saying it so casually. As if the Assassin and Templar were no more than prized hounds. “He may not be your _dad_ or a father _figure_ , but he is your flesh and blood. Whether either of you like it or not.” She reached out to examine his broken appendage and he jerked away. “My offer still stands, you know. Your room is still available. It’s a rather long ride to the Davenport property with a busted arm, and always a bumpy one. All that jostling could undo the reset, especially in a soft splint.” 

“No thank you. As much as I am I not welcome, I do not _want_ to stay here.”

“Not welcome? Oh…” She waved a hand and clicked her tongue. “Just ignore Haytham.”

“That is not an option.” In truth, Connor was beginning to see Beth as a threat as well. Not only had she been able to detect him, when he knew full well he was out of her line of sight in that tree, but she knew about the Homestead. She knew about Assassins and Templars, and still chose loyalty to the latter. It made the way she invited him into her home unsettling.

“Suit yourself. Though I’d ask that you not sneak around outside. Toby scares easily. Can I offer you a drink if you aren’t staying?”

That was an offer the Assassin couldn’t pass up. He had seen her drink from the pitcher while he was spying, and knew it wasn’t poisoned. Plus he hadn’t had anything to drink since leaving the manor earlier in the day. That was nearly seven hours ago, and he had been too strung out to take proper care of himself. Besides, it gave him a moment to rest his aching his aching arm and actually enjoy the property’s scenery again.

“I’ve just put the roast in the oven.” Molly said sweetly as she made her way out of the house. “Do you think the master- Oh, Mr. Connor! I didn’t know you were here.”

“I’m not-” 

“Don’t you worry, dear. I’ll make sure there’s plenty for you.”

Beth chuckled to herself as the older woman scurried back inside. “It seems you _will_ be joining us this evening.” The young man didn’t argue, but he was than less amused. How did he get wrangled into staying for supper at a Templar’s house again? By the cook, no less.

 

The next few hours were restless for Connor. The interest he held for the woman and her household had gone from an innocent curiosity to a dark scrutiny; even if Beth was acting as if that morning’s mild mayhem never happened. He only knew she was talking to him because he could hear her unmistakable soft and considerate voice, but it was like background noise. He couldn’t focus. Not on her.

All he could think about was Haytham returning and how he could defend himself against a Templar Grandmaster when he had no guns, no blades, and one arm. When the knob turned on the front door, the young Iroquois nearly lept out of his seat.

“Just stay here.” Beth urged with a hand on his chest as though that alone would root him to the floor. Which it did, for the most part, or at least kept him in the sitting room. He dared to peek around the corner just in time to see Toby handing her a small felt pouch.

“We got this for you!”

“ _He_ got it for you.” Haytham clarified, and Beth smiled at the silver bengal within the wrapping.

The woman bent down to kiss the boy on the forehead. “It’s beautiful, thank you. You have very good taste.”

“Mr. Kenway said that silver is your favorite.”

“That it is.” She hummed and twisted the bracelet onto her wrist. “Now, go wash up. Dinner’s ready.” Once the boy scurried off she straightened again, and Haytham kissed her tenderly.

“Are you alright?” After what happened this morning, I-”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Her small stature made her appear almost childish before the Templar, and she made up for it by running her palms over his upper arms. A simultaneously soothing and affectionate action. “But we have a guest.”

“Oh?” He leaned to peek around her but Beth moved with him and Connor ducked across into the dining room. 

While Haytham srighted his stance, she un-holstered his pistol for him and dropped it into the trunk. “Yes, and all I want is a nice, peaceful, meal.” When the Grandmaster went to drop his sword and hidden blade in the box, he spotted the unmistakable belt. Loaded with the tools of Connor’s trade.

_“Oh.”_

“Just try not kill each other over the dining table.”

“I don’t see how we’d be able to, woman. You’ve taken away anything we could use.”

Beth envisioned each man trying to end the other with silverware. “I’m serious, Haytham."

“As am I.” He placed a kiss atop her head. “We will be on our best behavior. Won’t we, Connor?”

The Assassin leaned against the entryway of the kitchen with a heavy exhale. “I suppose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy! Does this chapter read smoother than the last two or what? **_I_** think so, but let me know what you guys think. Also, Connor finally knows who own the house, yay!
> 
>  
> 
> [(Click here to see how Beth met Haytham)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909062%20)


	4. Every Step You Take, I'll Be Watching You

“Is Mr. Connor allowed to sleep in the hay loft?” Toby asked, rubbing the sleep from his still tired eyes as he walked into the parlor where Haytham and Beth were eating breakfast. The Grand Master stifled a chuckle from behind his tea, while his counterpart rolled her eyes. At least someone found the young Iroquois’ antics to be amusing.

“No he is not. Is that where he is?”

With stretching arms, he nodded “He was when I went to feed Tilly not five minutes ago.”

“You stay here and eat something.” The woman grumbled and stood. “I’ll go see to our guest.”

“Oh come now, Anna.” Haytham said in a relaxed tone. “If the lad wants to sleep in the hay, let him sleep in the hay.”

She gave him a look proving it to be still too early to put up with such nonsense. “I invited him to sleep _indoors_ , not camp out like some fugitive.”

Which she had. After supper the night before it was later than anyone intended it to be, and Beth reminded Connor, once again, that the spare room was still his. Especially after how well he and his father had gotten along during dinner. If not speaking to each other could be considered as such. So when she found Connor in the barn and taking stock of his weapons, the amiable demeanor which he had grown to expect from her was gone.

“I told you that Toby frightened easily, didn’t I?”

“Did I scare him?”

“No, but you’re lucky one of the other workers didn’t find you before he did. Many of them prefer to shoot first and ask questions later.” The Assassin looked at her as if she were fooling with him, and Annabeth swore she could see the makings of entertained grin on his face. The Kenway smirk was clearly genetic. “Allow me to be perfectly clear, Connor. You will stay the night inside or you will not stay the night at all. I can understand you desire to keep an eye on your father, but-”

“You do not.” He argued, matching the woman’s serious tone. “Someone like you will never understand.”

“Someone like me? Tell me, _Assassin_ , who you think I am.”

“A sheltered bystander.” He spat. “You agree he is dangerous but remain naive about how he truly is. You do not know what he is capable of.”

“I am fully aware of he has done and will do. I am not oblivious!” She hissed back in a semi-hushed voice. “I know how so many people have died because of him, directly or otherwise. I know _he_ gave the order that orphaned Toby.”

“Then you are willfully ignorant.”

“Don’t think me callous towards it. That much murder and bloodshed damns a person! But I cannot overlook what he’s done for me, and the good he’s done for others.”

“It does not make up for what he is.”

“And what is he, Connor, other than a Templar Grand Master? A Villain?” Beth sighed heavily and regarded him almost sadly for a fleeting second. “My Mother called him a good man. _Yours_ would have too.”

His jaw clenched at the mention of Kaniehtí:io. Some templar-aligned woman had no right to presume what his mother may or may not have believed Haytham Kenway to be, especially when it was the Grand Master’s own brother in arms that led to her death. Connor wanted to lash out, verbally or otherwise — to make it clear that Beth should not speak about things she had no knowledge of — but the sound of casual footfalls interrupted his outrage and he turned, as did she, to see Haytham standing in the doorway.

“I do hope everything's alright out here.” The man mused as they both shot him frigid looks. “You haven’t torn each other apart, I see. Yet.” Anna was worried about _him_ hurting his son, but from where the Templar stood it seemed more likely for Connor to suffer at her hands instead.

“We’re fine.” She assured him. “Just discussing whether or not you’re respectable.”

“Shouldn’t _I_ have a say in that as well?”

“No.” Connor and Annabeth said in unison.

 

“Are you going to come inside, or lurk about like some scoundrel?” Beth asked as the three of them stood on the porch, but the Assassin didn’t answer. “Scoundrel it is, then.” She grumbled and walked in with Haytham. Both watched through the front window as he skulked around to the side of the house, no doubt looking for a way onto the roof.

“You know he cannot be here when Charles arrives.”

“If he’s in _this_ house, he’ll stay his blade.”

Haytham couldn’t help but groan a bit. The confidence she held in her own methods and authority was admirable, but sometimes he believed her to be too self assured. “That may be, but Connor will not stay his.”

The woman offered an indifferent shrug. “Then it will be interesting to watch Mr. Lee fight someone who genuinely wants him dead.”

“Annabeth.”

“What?”

“You liked the man, once. Or have you forgotten that?”

“I never _liked_ him, Haytham.” She insisted and headed further into the house before it could be argued. 

It wasn’t an outright lie. Beth _had_ gotten along with Charles Lee, but not because she was acting polite or because she was fond of him. Rather, she had _adored_ him. His presence was cherished and she felt celebrated whenever he was in her company. Or so it was for a time; before the Grand Master’s second in command proved how relentlessly malicious he could be. The kindhearted variant of Charles was dead, and Beth would not mourn the beast that replaced him.

“Besides.” She continued from the sitting room. “That young man has more motive than I ever will.”

“He only _thinks_ he has motive.” The templar pointed out. “You and I both know Charles didn’t destroy that village.”

_That village_. Anna wondered if speaking so indifferently about it helped Haytham forget about who the fire had killed. If he was able to ignore how his son lost a mother. How he lost a lover. Did it soothe him to treat her as just another casualty of war?

“I also know that we need Washington alive. Connor, myself — _you_ , even you don’t believe it — all of us _need_ the General to win.” A heavy exhale escaped her as she sunk onto the couch. “Charles Lee would happily sacrifice himself for the Order, and he just might be given the chance.” The woman’s head fell against Haytham’s shoulder when he sat beside her. “You’ve already been working with Connor to find Church; what harm is there in continuing to do so?”

 

“If you insist on trying to kill me on my own property, at least have the decency to do it some place where Anna will not have to scrub out our blood.” Haytham said smoothly after Connor entered the room. The Grand Master had taken leave from Beth to enjoy the solitude of his office and write to Charles about his return. The only window in the room had been opened to air out the usually sealed area, and the Assassin had taken the opportunity to bypass the front door.

“It would be easy enough to kill you here.” The native declared. “That woman has taken away your weapons and left you defenseless.”

“If a man is nothing without his weapons then he does not deserve them, surely Achilles taught you that much. As for _that woman_...” He paused to rise from his chair and face his son. “She has everyone’s best interests at heart. Or so she believes.”

“She’s a Templar.”

Haytham found the sentiment funnier than was necessary. “I would advise you to keep that opinion to yourself.” He said in a light laugh. “Anna does not take well to others telling her what she is.”

“You speak as though she is dangerous.”

“You think she _isn’t_?”

Honestly, Connor was unsure. His, albeit strange, hostess seemed relatively harmless enough. Despite her knowledge of the Brotherhood and the Order, and the threat against his only working arm. Still, it would be foolish to overlook the possibility. Haytham clearly cared for her in some way, which the young man found hard enough to believe already, and it was doubtful that a person with so many enemies would leave a loved one alone if they could not look after themselves. If they could not defend themselves. 

Then again, the Templar leader not only left Connor’s mother to fend for herself, but allowed her to die. No matter how fond Haytham seemed to be of Beth, she was no doubt just a means to an end. As was everyone else in his life.

“Regardless of what you believe about her, it would be unwise to wander around the house with your armaments.” The older Kenway added when his son said nothing. “A gentleman should respect a lady’s wishes.”

Even if the young assassin wouldn’t consider himself a gentleman, it was enough to make him refrain from climbing back through the window. Instead he headed downstairs warrily, and found Beth in the sitting room with her nose buried in a book.

“Oh, Connor, I didn't hear you come in.” As soon as the words escaped her, a knowing look crossed the woman’s face. “Though I suppose that would be the point.” She sighed and headed to the foyer, waving for him to follow. “Come along. I won’t have you mucking about inside with blades and bullets strapped to you.” After his weapons had been deposited and the trunk was resealed, she gave him a sympathetic smile. “You _are_ safe here.” She assured. “So long as you don’t provoke anything, of course.”

“How are you so sure that he will not attack me? That _I_ will not attack _him_?”

“If you were going to kill him here then he’d already be dead.” Connor was genuinely surprised at the implication. Did she really believe Haytham would be the one to die if they fought? “Plus, from what I understand, you two have already been working together.” His silence was confirmation enough. “Frankly, I’m surprised you got back to Massachusetts before he did.”

Connor scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Do you even _know_ what’s happened in the hunt for Church?”

“She does not, and she will not.” Haytham said almost angrily as he came down the stairs, and again both of the younger people looked at him as if he were unwelcome. It was an expected expression from his son, but having Anna look at him so unpleasantly was rather troubling.

“I’ve seen the bruises, Haytham. From _this_ errand of yours and the ones before. The blood, the pain, the death — I’m not a stranger to any of it. For goodness sake, the only reason I knew how to splint Connor’s arm was because I’ve practiced on _you_.” She reminded. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“You always mention your age as if it matters.” The Grand Master nearly mumbled and took the woman’s hands in his own despite the agitation in her eyes. “There are some things you cannot be shielded from, but I will not have you privy to the explicit horrors of combat that I have witnessed. That we have witnessed.” He corrected and nodded to Connor. 

Anna knew enough about his pursuit of Benjamin Church, and his alliance with Connor, from what few letters the Templar managed to send in his absence. But Haytham refused to let her discover that the bruises he currently donned were from Church’s men beating the daylight out of him after they discovered him sneaking around.

“Perhaps you should leave the Order.” The Assassin said, knowing such a simple statement would never convince his father. “Then she wouldn’t be subjected to your _horrors_.”

“Trust me, I’ve given Miss Hurley more than enough opportunities to remove herself from my company. For whatever reason, she insists on staying.” Haytham’s half-jest made Beth pull away and her rage was almost palpable.

“Fuck off, Kenway.” She growled before storming out the door and Connor actually made a move to follow after her. He understood how much of brute the Templar could be and felt pity for the woman.

“Don’t.” Haytham exhaled and stopped his son by placing a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder. “If you sneak up on her she may think you’re me and stab you.”

“She’s stabbed you?”

“She’s tried. She _could_ if she really wanted to. She could do quite a bit, actually, if she chose to.”

“Then why doesn’t she?”

“I ask myself that everyday.” He sighed, and Connor would never know how true those words were.

When it became known that his son fought under Achilles’ guidance, Haytham began to question more and more why Annabeth wouldn’t claim the freedom she was granted. She had the resources to settle almost anywhere she wanted within the New World, and live far away from Templars and Assassins and patriots and redcoats. Yet she opted to stay.

In the past four years alone, Connor’s work had thinned the local Templar ranks considerably. The deaths of Johnson and Hickey left Haytham scrambling to regain power for the Colonial Rite, with little to show for it. All while Beth was left at home, virtually alone, to mourn her friends and fret over his own well being. 

Each time he left the house, she wondered if he’d survive the day, and they both knew that if something _did_ happen to him, she may never find out. Haytham understood how taxing it was to live in such a state of dread, and no matter how much Anna insisted she was fine, he did not understand why she continued to accept such a painful existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t played this game in over a year, and I am so sorry for that, and I’m even more sorry that they do have AC3 (from what I can find) for XboxOne. That being said, I’m doing my best to keep this in tune with the Haytham-Connor Timeline from the game and am referring the [Assassin's Creed Wiki](http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Assassin%27s_Creed_Wiki) and video walkthroughs to supplement the things I have forgotten. 
> 
> I would say that this point in the fic is after the Father-Son Death Duo run into each other on their search for Benjamin Church, but before they meet up in New York to smoke him out. 
> 
> Please feel free to jog my memory or make me aware of any key events you think I’m missing!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr [@maelizwriting](https://maelizwriting.tumblr.com/) so I can follow you!


	5. Fuck You Very Very Much

Unfortunately Haytham was once again forced to leave Annabeth alone when a letter came with intel on Church’s specific whereabouts in New York, and the woman was less than thrilled that her companion would be off galavanting about after being home for only a few days. The fact that a guest would be arriving in his absence agitated her more. She’d rather worry to herself than entertain company.

Connor had insisted upon returning to the Davenport property before heading to New York, and no one argued the fact. Beth _did_ , however, pad his arm the best she could to allow him freer movement, but insisted that the young Iroquois be careful. The father and son duo of death would be meeting each other in New York, so long as they both survived the journey there, and Beth found herself nervous over the prospect. Surely having the Assassin at the Grand Master’s side would help ensure the elder’s safety, but the thought of Connor turning on his father made her afraid.

Still, she knew there was nothing she could say or do to convince Haytham not to go, so when the time came for him to be off, she bid him well. Telling him to return home to her in one piece, as she always did, and begging every God she knew of to keep him safe. 

With the house to herself, save for Molly and Toby, Annabeth filled her hours with reading and riding. Devereux, her stallion, was strong and gentle, and she enjoyed the animal’s company on her trips into Boston. Often talking to him as they trotted along, and buying him apples and sugar cubes from the shops. The young black quarter horse had been a gift from Haytham some years ago, and he helped alleviate her loneliness. Though he could not ease her stress when they arrived home one afternoon to a second set of hoofprints stamped across the drive.

The expected guest had finally arrived, and Beth, viewing it as an unfavorable thing, took her sweet time in escorting Devereux back to his stall and tending to him. Usually it would be Toby’s responsibility, he was the stable boy after all, but the woman was procrastinating. However there was only so much that the horse required, and it was only a matter of time before she had to face the music and head to the house.

“Haytham is not here.” Beth announced as she walked through the front door, though no one answered her and she rounded her way into the sitting room. Just as she suspected, Charles Lee had made himself at home. He’d visited enough for it to be appropriate, but it still irked her. “Did you hear me? He’s not here.”

“Yes, so I gathered, Anna, when-”

_“Beth.”_ She spat with wickedness glowing in her emerald eyes. He lost the right to use the same nickname as Haytham long ago. The man knew it too, yet he insisted on pushing his luck all the same.

“Fine, _Beth_ , I reasoned the Grand Master wasn’t home when I arrived to an empty house. When will he be back?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Word about Church arrived not long after he sent for you. God knows when he’ll return.”

“Ah, I see…”

There was a long and bitter silence before Beth clicked her tongue. “I suppose you _can_ stay if you’d like, but you’ll be left to your own devices.”

“My, my, how generous. The good Miss Hurley welcoming me into her home.”

“You are welcome in the _Grand Master’s_ home.” She corrected in a hiss. “It just so happens that he and I share the same manor.”

“And a bed.” Charles casually reminded her. “Why do you insist on living this fantasy, Beth?” He asked with a new softness and stood. The woman figured she should be thankful he was using the correct name for her, but she wasn’t. She’d rather he not speak her name at all. “Why do you continue to torment yourself with him?”

“He torments me far less than you, _Mr. Lee_.” 

The rudeness of her formality seemed to set him off and he stepped closer to loom over her. “When he dies, you will be left with nothing, and then you will understand that-”

“Charles…” She interrupted in a mild tone. “Should you take the liberty to encroach upon my space again, I shall take the liberty to remove one of your fingers.” Beth gave him a polite smile and took her leave from the room while calling back to him: “Supper’s at six.”

 

Of course, she didn’t want to join him for dinner, but hiding away in her room would be too juvenile for a woman her age. Having Charles around was awkward enough already and locking herself away certainly wouldn't ease the tension. Though Beth refused to subject Toby to the sourness and the boy ate with Molly, leaving Mr. Lee and Miss Hurley to glare at each other from opposite ends of the table. Though it was the woman doing most of the glaring. Halfway through the meal, Charles had begun to gaze at her rather admirably, and it set Beth on edge.

“What do you want?” She grumbled before bringing her glass to her lips. Lee’s visit would ensure she drank more wine than usual.

“Can’t a man simply look at his hostess?”

“A _man_ can, but you are a stray dog, Charles. Wild and unruly and ghastly. Do not get it in your head this this is some chance for you to play house with me. I am in charge here, do you understand?”

“You’ve always been in charge, Beth. You have the Grand Master wrapped around your finger.”

“Damn it all, you know what I mean!” It was enraging that after all this time, after so many years, the man still managed to get under skin and drive her mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter than usual but it's a much more manageable length for me with my two other fics going on. Plus, Charles is going to be introduced in the next chapter of [Reminiscent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909062/chapters/32010369), so I wanted him in this chapter without there being too much of him.


	6. I Can't Make You Love Me

Beth was bound to get freckles after spending so much time outside but she didn’t care. The sun was warm and the sky was clear; and it was as good a day as any to spend some time in the field beside the manor. Despite her threat against Connor’s unbroken arm, and the warning to Charles about the possibility of him losing a finger, the woman hadn’t practiced any means of self defense in quite some time. In fact, if Haytham had gone as long as she did without target practice alone, she would’ve teased him about being retired. It was true that she had a house to run, which took up a surprising amount of time, really, and she wasn't in any immediate or imagined danger; but it was always good to keep one’s skills sharp.

Thankfully, it seemed that several months without routine training hadn’t completely condemned her. The four knives she’d thrown all stuck into the target. Granted, none of them were bullseyes, but they were close. She was never very good with throwing knives to begin with.

She wanted to make the fifth and final one count though, and she made sure to focus intently. Her arm extended several times in practice without releasing blade, and she could feel when her form was right. Just as she was ready to loose the knife, the sound of rustling grass startled her and she spun around while tossing the weapon. Leaving the point lodged in the dirt between a pair of black boots.

“You should be more careful.” Mr. Lee cautioned as he pulled the knife free from the ground, only for Beth to snatch it away from him.

“Perhaps _you_ shouldn’t sneak up on people.” The woman threw the knife toward the target and it stuck closer to the center than the rest, though still not a perfect shot. “You’re lucky I’m out of practice, or else you’d have a hole in your foot. At best.”

“Does the Grand Master know how intent you are on maiming me?”

“He does.” She said simply and approached the board to dislodge the weapons. When she glanced back, the expression on Charles’ face was an odd one. A strange look of concern and worry. “However he does not know _why_.” She clarified, answering the silent question she knew he was asking. “And I think it is _that_ which concerns him more. Seeing as I usually tell him everything.”

The problem with having Lee stay at the manor in Haytham’s absence was that the lower ranking templar acted gentlemanly when his leader was away. Something which proved to be bittersweet. Despite the sourness Beth held toward him it was exhausting to constantly display such animosity. Plus, when the man was kind, it was all too tempting to let her guard down.

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it for you.” She grumbled. Speaking off how she was keeping Haytham in the dark. “You’re his confidant. He trusts you with his life. _I_ will not be the one to tell him you wanted to wreck his happiness.”

“He’d get over it in time.”

“Over _me_ , you mean.” He remained silent at her correction. “You say that, and yet _you_ are still pining over me.”

“I’m not pining, Annabeth.”

“Aren’t you?” She dropped the knives to the ground and stepped up to him. Close to him. Near enough for their torsos to touch and for her to hear his breath hitch when her fingers skimmed his belt. Reaching for his pistol. 

After unholstering the gun she reached her arm backwards without moving away from him, though she did look over her shoulder to check her position against the target. After making an alteration to the angle of her arm, she fired. Landing the bullet spot on. Firearms always were her strong suit.

“It’s a good thing, for you, that I don’t allow weapons in the house.” She mused with a coy smile when he stayed quiet after the shot, and she slipped the weapon back into its place at his hip.

“You know, I can accept your frustration but I do now understand why you are _so_ cross with me.”

“Do _not_ insult my intelligence, Charles Lee.” Beth snapped as she picked up the knives from the grass. “Or yours, for that matter. Not after you’ve just thanked me for keeping that exact secret from Haytham. You know what you did — what you _asked_. And you know how you act _now_. Behaving kindly when your Grand Master’s away and then becoming a snake upon his return. It’s disgusting.”

“I only wish you to see that Master Kenway is not the man you imagine him to be.”

It was almost amusing how much Lee’s sentiment reflected Connor’s that morning she and the assassin spoke in the barn. “Neither of you are the men I thought you be. None of you were. Not Thomas, not William, not Haytham, not…” Beth couldn’t bring herself to say the name of the remaining, unlisted, gentleman. “You’re all killers and templars and shadows. Still, none of _them_ treated me unkindly, especially out of spite. You are a hateful man, Charles, whether you wish to believe it or not.”

Lee watched as she turned away from him to begin throwing her blades once again. It was simultaneously surprising and yet not, to see that she still donned trousers from time to time. Even at the age of 34. The wardrobe choice was never ladylike, and he didn't understand why the Grand Master had turned a blind eye to it when she was younger. Then again, maybe Kenway hadn’t. Charles had been admittedly absent in the woman’s younger years and for a time she had not hated him, but feared him. So much so that his presence around her was once supervised in a way. To put her at ease. It was a private thing, Haytham had vaguely explained when it was still an issue. That Beth’s distaste toward the second in command had not been personal. 

Now, however, it _was_ personal, and no matter how much he tried, Charles couldn’t blame her for it. To his own sorrow, he blamed the Grand Master for the rift between himself and the redhead. Yet for whatever reason the leader of the Colonial Rite never seemed to notice his friend’s change in behavior. But Beth had. And it wasn’t something she’d forgive. If there was one thing Annabeth would remain ever resolute toward it was Haytham Kenway. For, in her eyes, he was more than a man. He was _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. More push and pull between Charles and Beth, because I love the conflict between these two.


	7. These Wounds Won't Seem To Heal

Annabeth woke up in a cold sweat with her eyes piercing the lightless room in panic. She was so startled that it almost took a moment for her to realize that she was home in her own bed, in the bed she shared with Haytham, though he was yet to return. 

The nightmare had been her first in nearly a decade. And it had been horrid. So much so that the ghostly visage of her childhood terrors were preferable to the sight that now plagued her. She dreamt of the Grand Master as it so happened, and in the least romantic of ways. 

In her head he’d been walking down the street just ahead of her, never knowing she was just a few yards behind him and paying no attention to the lurking danger. Even in the nightmare it happened so fast. Connor had practically apparated beside his father and ended his life then and there, spilling the Master Templar’s blood on the cobblestone while she screamed. Brokenly. Silently. Left in a void that contained nothing but her dead beloved and herself in a cursed and crumbling environment. Beth had been unable to approach him or move, and she was left to watch him bleed out. 

Now that she was awake, her hands were trembling, and she rubbed them to cease the quaking. She was grown. There was no room in her life for imaginary fears. True, Haytham would die someday. Sooner rather than later by the way the war was going and it broke her heart. Looking off across the dark expanse of the room she silently reminded herself who would be the one to kill him. The woman had no way to know for sure, of course, but it was the only means of death she could reason. A man like Haytham Kenway certainly wouldn’t pass away from old age, no, he was the kind to work himself to the end. And it would be quite literally his work that would see to his end. She just hoped that Connor would be kind about it. Quick about it. Merciful. They’d all suffered enough from the damned fighting between Assassins and Templars.

It took mere minutes for Beth to realize she wasn’t getting back to sleep and she resigned to wrap her dressing robe around her nightgown clothed form and head downstairs. Perhaps some mild tea would help her doze off again. At the very least it might calm her nerves. Though she never made it to the kitchen to find out.

Oddly enough there was a candle lit in the drawing room and she peeked around the corner to see her guest sat on the couch with his left ankle propped on his right knee as he lazily read a book. That was how he always managed to fall asleep, she remembered. Through reading. And he did have a bad habit of falling asleep in places that weren’t beds.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Charles asked without looking up, stirring Beth from her thoughts. 

She didn’t think he’d notice her, but figured he heard her come down the stairs. Mr. Lee didn’t have it in him to tell her that the answer to his question was already known. She hadn’t called out in her sleep, but there had been a shriek. One he distinctly remembered from when she was younger and the thought of it made him uneasy. Still, he said nothing about it. Beth was a lady and she was right, he _had_ been underhandedly sabotaging her relationship with the Grand Master, but he wouldn’t take her dignity from her so shamelessly. 

“No, it seems not. You?”

He held up his book as if she couldn’t see it. “Reading.”

Beth’s eyes rolled so hard within her skull that the action mights as well have been audible. “Yes, I’ve grasped that, Charles, thank you.” She grumbled and moved into the room, staring at Haytham’s empty armchair. “Do you think he’s alright?”

The Templar second in command looked up again at the ominous question and followed her gaze. With her hair down and the light silhouette from her robe, Beth looked like a memory. A recollection he could practically feel underneath his fingertips. A remembrance he could smell. Taste. And the look in her eyes was all too familiar. 

Standing before him she appeared so young, as she once had been, and terrified. Yes, fear in her eyes was something he knew all too well. Whether it was directed at him or otherwise. The woman had spent a great portion of her life fretting and it was amazing he she hadn’t gone grey from the stress. It was amazing she survived it.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” He said finally. “He’s the Grand Master.” 

The words were meant to comfort her, but they didn’t. What good was the Grand Master of the Templar Colonial Rite when the Colonial Rite itself was nearly nonexistent? She missed the days when the others were alive. When she and Haytham lived in Virginia. She missed them more than she thought was possible.

Slowly, she sat down beside Charles and her stiff rigid motions had him finally casting away his reading material. The course behavior had nothing to do with him or what he’d done during his stay or in the past. Rather she was lost in her own head. Imagining every morbid scenario that there could possibly be. She could see it in her mind’s eye. Haytham dying slowly. Alone. With no word of his passing reaching her. No body of his to bury. 

Or the other of her great fears. His prolonged absence and assumed death. Which she’d move on from, eventually. Painfully. Only for him to pop up one afternoon. Perhaps _that_ dread was one of the many reasons she didn’t get close to people anymore and one of the lingering subconscious reasons she refused to smooth things over with Charles. If Haytham died, _when_ he died, she didn’t want to move on. He’d been her happiness for so long that the thought of being happy without him felt like heresy.

“...Beth...” Her name broke from Lee’s lips tentatively as if he feared she’d either strike him or cry, and he wasn’t sure which would actually be worse. Though neither happened and instead she just leaned into him with a shaky exhale and he was as cautious and bewildered as he’d ever been around her.

Yes, that was another one of the numerous problems with Charles Lee. In her youth, he had been a comfort. And she needed that more than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey hey! Here's some kinda sad shit to get you through your Saturday.
> 
> In full disclosure, these fics of mine are supposed to practice for the novel I really want to write, and as it so happens, I got WAY more invested in the fan fictions than I expected and ended up neglecting my bigger picture. So I've re-picked up my original story and you can check out the first few chapters of it [here](https://maelizwriting.tumblr.com/post/172675194034/those-who-lie-between) if you're interested.


	8. In The End, It's Him And I

Comfort or not, Charles couldn’t stay for the duration of Haytham’s absence; and when a letter arrived from the Grand Master detailing how he was pursuing Church to the caribbean, Mr. Lee had taken his leave. A trip like that would eat up weeks, and while the second in command had no problem with staying in his boss’ home, there was work to be done. Charles’ own house was just outside the opposite side of the city after all, and it would be easy enough for him to return when Haytham did. Though the next time he would ignore the instruction to ‘arrive at his leisure’, as it had made him miss meeting with the Grand Master in the first place.

Lee had offered his own home up to Beth, an invitation which she unsurprisingly declined. And when he insisted, she declined further. The bad blood between them was still there, but his proposition wasn’t a wholly selfish one. Charles was worried about her. He never found joy in Beth’s sadness, and felt she shouldn’t be alone. The woman, however, craved solitude.

Though it was solitude that ate up her insides and vomited out only sorrow and fear. Connor was dangerous. The sea was dangerous. Going after Church was dangerous. Haytham was an able and determined man, but the odds seemed stacked against his return to her, and she grew restless withe the weeks. Eating little and sleeping only when exhaustion whisked her away. With her love scolding her somewhere in the back of her mind. 

Beth could almost hear him say how she was acting like a child. Haytham’s voice echoed in her brain and sometimes it was so real it moved her to tears. In the end, if his body was nothing but ash, his phantom would still haunt her. Reminding her of her youth as well as her adulthood, and she’d never be free. Yet when another letter arrived it felt like salvation.

The courier was out of breath and sweat soaked when he knocked on her door, making the urgency of his delivery clear, and Beth had quickly paid him and sent him away. Instead of Haytham’s embossment as its seal, the paper was closed with a waxed imprint she’d never seen before, and it took little effort to realize the message was from Connor. It felt like receiving a letter from Death itself, and a strange sense of finality washed over her.

Haytham’s passing, as painful as such a thing could be, would put an end to her worry. Forever. No more would she have to fret about if he came home, because she knew he wouldn’t. She’d always know where he was or wasn’t, and that kind of truth would be healing. Though instead of the Grand Master’s end, Connor’s note informed her of something much more harrowing, and it had her fleeing the manor a matter of minutes.

The ride was long. Too long. Devereux's hooves were thunder against the earth, and Beth’s heart thumped against her eardrums, but she could hear neither. The only sound she recognized was that which she spoke. A ghostly prayer falling from her lips as she gripped the reigns and tried to see the trail through unspilt tears: _Please no. Please, not yet._

In all her years of knowing him, Beth never once imagined losing Haytham Kenway to a shipwreck. Reminding herself that he wasn't actually lost to her was difficult, because the word _‘yet’_ kept dancing across her consciousness. Their ship had caught a storm, Connor’s letter said, and there were casualties. One of which was almost Haytham. Almost but not quite. Not yet.

Splintered hulls were unforgiving things, as were cliffs and currents, and the _Aquila_ had suffered through all three. Angrily throwing around it’s crew and driving a piece of shattered top yard into the Templar as if he himself had cursed their voyage.

“It is a miracle he lived through it.” The Assassin had wrote plainly, and Beth needed no further explanation. Miracles were hard to come by. Haytham lived long enough to endure the trauma, but it was still to be seen whether he'd succumb to his injuries. And she pleaded with Those Who Came Before to keep him alive. Hoping he’d live long enough to see her.

She didn’t know what time it was when she reached the Homestead, only that the sun was ebbing nearer to the horizon and threatening the world with darkness, and the second the house was close enough she slid from her horse and practically fell to the dirt. Her legs were weak from the ride and the stagnant adrenaline within her, but she willed herself up the path and tried not to shake. 

“Anna?”

Her name spoken against the property’s silence was haunting and Beth almost didn’t turn around to see who addressed her. She didn’t want to risk it being a lie concocted by her broken mind, but took the chance anyway. Thankful that she did.

There, just behind her in a little half-open air stable which she’d passed, was Haytham. Laid upon a makeshift cot with a bandage wrapped around his middle; and she ran to him. 

The moment she reached his side and sat beside him, the woman spewed a fountain of countless questions. She asked what happened and how, and if he’d seen a proper doctor. She even asked where Connor was, but in the grand scheme of it, Haytham was just surprised to see her. He specifically remembered telling his son not to send for Annabeth. She was not a Templar and should be spared any atrocities that came with his role in the Order.

“What are you doing here?” He finally managed after finding no choice but to cut off one of her many inquiries. At his own question, she squeezed his hand and Haytham could feel how cold her fingers were. Anna’s panic had put her body into an unnecessary state of self preservation, and any blood that could be spared was sent to her internal organs so as to keep her alert. Leaving her fingers like ice.

“What do you mean what am I doing here? I came to see you. Connor wrote me, he told me about what happened on the ship, how you got hurt…”

“Of course he did.” He scoffed with a wince and her eyes washed over him to take in the damage. The gash in his abdomen was clear and evident, based on the white wrappings, but less prominent were the scattered cuts and scrapes. She had a feeling that not every injury happened aboard the _Aquila_. However she’d bet gold that the slice along his jaw had, and she ghosted her hand over it. As if the threat of her touch might will the wound away.

“Tell me that he’s fetched a doctor for you.” She repeated, though not in question, and the Templar sighed.

“Yes. There’s one living on the property as it so happens.”

“And why are you outside? You need cleanliness and an actual bed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well you don’t look fucking fine to me.” Her voice was gentle despite the profanity and she brushed some stray hairs from his face. The man was tired and hurt, and for the first time in a long time, she saw his age in those blue eyes. True, his hair had greyed over the years and there were lines on his face that once didn’t exist, but most outward appearances were deceitful. 

Haytham looked more than decent considering the abuse his body was subjected to over the years, and on the surface he looked like any other gentleman in his mid-fifties. But his eyes contained more than most. They’d seen more than most. Decades of death and destruction, and an unspoken fear of losing the person he loved, left them in a state of constant grief. One day Connor’s eyes would look the same and she mourned at the thought. Though when the Assassin approached them from the house and she turned to look at him, her expression soured.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” Connor assured her softly. “I am making sure he is being tended to.”

_“You.”_ The word seeped from her mouth like poison as she climbed to her feet and his brows drew together. As did Haytham’s. “You did this!”

“I assure you, Connor did not-” The Templar stopped short when he caught her line of sight. She wasn’t looking at the Iroquois, but rather past him and at the house. At the old man standing just outside the doorway. “Annabeth. _Don’t._ ”

But his words weren't enough, and by the time Connor caught on, the woman was already storming up the hill. With an immeasurable amount of rage directed at Achilles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie to you, this is my favorite chapter so far. <3


	9. The Ghost Of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be Warned: This chapter contains spoilers for AC: Rogue

Annabeth Hurley had hurt people before, but she’d never taken a life. That would change with Achilles Davenport. Even before the knife sprung from her wrist she could feel the man’s blood beneath her fingers and it felt like divinity. Like justice. No, she never _wanted_ to take a life before, but that changed with Achilles Davenport.

Yet the old man was still alive. Standing with her blade far too close to his face as she strained to impale him. Pulling against the Assassin that held her back. Connor was bigger than she was. Stronger. And he didn’t know whether to be more angry with Beth for trying to kill the old man, or with Achilles himself for not even trying to dodge her.

“This is your fault!” She screamed at the Creed Mentor and the young native yanked her back further. Feeling generally better about Achilles’ safety when he had both her arms in his grasp. Though that didn’t stop her from kicking and thrashing. Violently trying to get away him. “The boy wouldn’t even have a ship to crash if it wasn’t for you.” She snarled. “Haytham should have killed you when he had the chance!”

The last jab was screamed louder than the rest, and it pierced the air like a broken prophecy.

“Enough!” The Assassin half shouted while shoving Beth away from his teacher. “We hit a storm. There is nothing that could have been done.”

The woman scoffed and clicked her tongue. She didn’t want to hear Connor talk about things he didn’t understand. “You better hope you die before he does, old man.” She snarled at the decrepit land owner while waving a hand back down the hill in Haytham’s direction. “Because if you’re still alive when I lose him to your damned Creed, I’ll kill you myself.” She swallowed hard and glared at Connor before turning and starting to head back down the path. “As well as anyone who gets in my way.”

Beth had looked past Haytham’s numerous indiscretions over the years, but there was one thing, and one thing only, which she could not forgive: He had the chance to kill Achilles, and he passed it up.

She could still remember how angry she was the first time she heard about. Still in her youth, Beth didn’t even know how badly she wanted the man dead until finding out that Haytham _didn’t_ kill him. And at Shay’s behest. No, she wasn’t angry at the Irishman, she’d seen how muddled he’d become over hunting those he knew by name, but it wasn’t Cormac’s decision to make. It was Kenway’s. As a Templar Grand Master he should have ended it. The Order vs Brotherhood war in the colonies would have stopped there, and everyone could be free. Her friends could stop looking over their shoulders for killers and Shay could finally let go of his past. 

_Shay._ Back then, if anything, she wanted Achilles dead for him. She hated the way the captain’s heart audibly broke when he spoke about how he turned against the Assassins, and at the time she blamed the inept Mentor only for his pain. Now, she blamed him for far more. 

The old man could have lived out his days in peace and died quietly, taking his legacy with him, but _no_. Of course he had to find an apprentice, the Grand Master’s son of all people, and reignite the flames of anarchy. She saw him as a thief to Connor’s innocence. Achilles hadn’t enlightened the boy, he weaponized him. In the same way he did Shay, and the Order did with Haytham. Templars or Assassins, it didn’t matter, the organizations were highly proficient at churning out young soldiers ready to die for their cause. They’d manage to turn even her, someone who refused to pick sides, into a hypocrite.

She knew how it sounded. Verbally wanting Achilles to die while wishing Haytham to stay alive. But life wasn’t about good versus evil, it was about one side as opposed to the other, and she’d chosen hers. It wasn’t a stand _with_ the Templars or _against_ the Assassins, but rather a platform for _herself_. She fought for Haytham Kenway as the man she knew he was, not the Grand Master he was thought to be.

“That may have not been the wisest course of action.” The man said once she rejoined his bedside. “But it was certainly something.”

“Yes, _something_ indeed.” Connor agreed gruffly as he walked up behind Beth, having followed her down the hill. He reached for her arm once again. For her wrist. For her blade. But she jerked away. “Where did you get those?”

“Did you ask your father where he got his?” The men exchanged glances at the accusation, and Haytham found himself silently apologizing for her brash behavior. 20 years since he’d met her, and still he was smoothing over her boldness when it insulted others. “I didn’t think as much.” She huffed at Connor’s silence, and he frowned.

“You cannot stay here if you intend to murder Achilles.”

“ _Murder_ implies it would be an unrightful action.” Her snark earned a cold look from both Kenways. Connor feared for the safety of his mentor while Haytham worried for her own. He didn’t want her to fall victim to an Assassin’s blade _now_ after he’d kept a target off her back for so long. “Look…” She began undoing the gauntlets on her forearms. “I’ll give these to you, and promise to leave the old man — as well as everyone else — alone, _if_ he gets a real bed. Indoors.”

“He is not welcome in the manor.” Connor noted after glancing over his shoulder at the house.

“Then build a shack!” She demanded unreasonably. “It’s getting dark. If I did not approve of _you_ sleeping in a barn, what makes you think I’d tolerate _him_ staying in one?”

“Anna, stop, I’m fine.”

“Stay out of this, Haytham.” She bit back without looking at him, and neither she nor the Templar’s son caught the insulted look on his face. “Connor, please. If you thought I shouldn’t be here then you would not have sent that courier. You wanted to repay my kindness for you arm, well this will settle that debt.” Her voice grew strangely desperate. “I need him well again.”

 

_“What about Beth?”_

Connor had asked his father that question on a rooftop in New York after he’d finished with some lecture about ‘not feigning affection’, and the Assassin could remember how tense Haytham became. Stoney and cold. As if suggesting he didn’t _actually_ care for Annabeth warranted the crossing of blades.

“My devotion to Miss Hurley is genuine, I assure you.” Was all he’d said in return, and Connor thought it a strange choice of words. The Grand Master hadn’t used the word ‘love’, but his son suspected it to be what he meant; and with that in mind, he believed the sentiment to be true. Even more so now that he could see the pair together again.

The small tavern on the homestead had a few rooms for weary travelers, and as it happened there was a vacant one. So with the last kiss of sunlight, Connor was helping move the Templar leader across the property. Though with Beth insisting that his arm was still in a fragile state, despite it being months since he’d left her care, he was chaperoning the small transport. With Norris and Big Dave carrying Haytham in a makeshift stretcher, much to the older Kenway’s protest. And watching his father interact with the hovering redhead erased any doubts Connor may have had about the relationship they shared.

Beth had, unsurprisingly, refused to leave the Templar’s side and walked in stride with the small transfer party. While Haytham was doing all he could to ease her worry. Holding her hand as she squeezed his, and assuring her he was fine. Something he obviously wasn’t. Based on the minute winces he made when the ride got bumpy or the ever reddening of his bandage. But his pain caused her pain, and he was doing his utmost to pretend that all was well. Whether she wanted him to or not. 

What’s more, as they plodded along, Haytham spoke tenderly to Beth and looked at her with more reverence than was palatable. A realization that irked the young Iroquois.

The Grand Master of the Colonial Rite gazed at this woman, closer to his son’s age than his own, as if she was heaven-sent. Like she was a greater treasure than every First Civilization relic combined. And Connor wasn’t sure he understood why. Everyone deserved love, he reasoned, even Templars; but had his father ever looked at his mother that way? Did Haytham ever love Kaniehtí:io? If so, had she loved him back?

The amount of unanswered questions, as well as their sensitivity, left the Assassin bitter. And by the time they reached the tavern he was grateful for it. He was so eager to get away from them that he nearly forgot about his deal with Beth. Only remembering when she held the hidden blades out to him once Haytham was settled in. A deal was a deal, after all, and she _had_ demanded that he be weapons-free in her home.

“I’ll send Dr. White to see to your wound.” He said while nodding to the no-longer-white gauze on his father’s side before looking at Beth. “And _I_ will come by in the morning.”

On his way out of the room, Corrine slipped in with an armful of blankets and a warm smile. “I’m sorry the bed’s not big enough for two.” She apologized. “But I thought maybe these would let you make an extra one of sorts.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” Beth said as she took the bedding and the tavern keeper waved a hand.

“No trouble at all, deary. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.” It wasn’t a moment until she was gone again, and the Templar paramour dropped the gifted items to the floor in a neat pile before filling the wash basin.

“I do hope someone saw to Devereux.” She mused while wetting a cloth and ringing it out to join Haytham’s side again. The day was dreadful enough already. The last she needed was a missing horse as well.

Without any audible protest, Haytham allowed her to run the washcloth along his face. The summer air was warm and the cool water felt nice against his skin. But he eyed the discarded blankets. “I’m sure Connor’s taken care of it — Aren’t you going to make up a bed?” 

“I don’t really plan on sleeping tonight.”

“Annabeth.”

“Haytham, stop. I thought I lost you today.” She admitted in a cracked voice. “I’m in no mood to sleep.”

“Yes, of course. My apologies.” He was soft and sincere, and the woman almost rolled her eyes at the properness of it. “Did any news come while I was away?”

She should have known it would be back to business as usual. “Charles came to see you, but you were already gone.”

“I see. Any word from-”

“No, and I wish you would stop asking every time you come home.” She cut the Templar off. Predicting his question. “It’s been ages since we received a letter from him.”

“And yet you were ready to end Achilles nonetheless.”

“I blame the old bastard for more than just Shay…” She said quietly. Painfully. Neither of them could remember the last time she’d spoken his name aloud. The ex-Assassin’s time abroad made it seem like he fell off the face of the Earth. Cormac would check in with the local Rites he came across, and those branches of the Order would pass on their pleasant experiences to the Colonial Grand Master, so he was definitely alive. But for whatever reason he’d stopped writing to them personally, and Anna hated him for it. “I blame him for Connor being what he is, too. If that young man had a different life, than niether of you would have been on that ship.”

Haytham quirked a brow. “What sort of _different life_ should he have had, exactly?”

“One with two parents and no Assassin’s perhaps?”

“Anna…” Her name wasn’t spoken in a rebuke, but rather in consolation, and seeing that she’d looked away, Haytham reached up to gingerly turn her face towards him once again. “Connor’s mother was a very long time ago.”

It was supposed to make her feel better, but he could see that it didn’t. There were few instances when Beth wondered about his relationship with Ziio and only once he’d had the mind to confess to her his love for the native woman. A truth told back before either he or Annabeth realized they had a lasting future together. It was foolish of him to overlook the possible melancholy she might succumb to from having Connor around. The boy was a ghost of his mother, and he could only imagine how haunted the woman felt.

Not only was he killing Templar’s left and right, Connor was a reminder that Haytham had a life before her. And she, a life before him. Neither of which were wholly joyful times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Achilles get's to live, and the Kenway clan gets to be at odds with one another. But what else is new? 
> 
> You might notice that I call Annabeth, 'Anna' sometimes, and then 'Beth' other times. Which I'm trying to do based on who's talking to her at the moment, or who she's dealing with at the moment. The people she feels close to refer to her as Anna, which is explained in chapter 4 of Reminiscent.


	10. Stay With You

Beth remained at Haytham’s side for nearly a week, and while it was admirable, it worried her hosts. She remained uneasy despite the Templar’s increasingly good health, and even Dr. White mentioned that she _needed_ to spend some time away from her injured lover. For the sake of her sanity. Though, unsurprisingly, she disagreed. 

In her mind, she was right where she belonged. Leaving Connor no choice but to launch a small scale intervention. Something which was more difficult than he expected.

“It would be good for you.” He assured her as he followed her up the tavern stairs. He’d been badgering the woman for several minutes and she was desperately trying to escape the nagging. “Surely you can relax now that he’s healing.”

“I will relax when he’s healed _completely_ , thank you.” She argued and pushed the door open, only for him to walk in after her and have Haytham take an interest in their conversation.

“Ah, Connor.” The Grand Master mused. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Beth rolled her eyes at the hospitality in his voice and set the newly filled pitcher beside the basin. “No, it’s not. He’s trying to convince me to join him for a walk, of all things.”

“I think that’s a marvelous idea.”

“Of course you do…”

“Absolutely, your pacing has been driving me mad.” The half-humor was underlined with sincerity and concern. The way she resembled a caged animal was troubling. She needed time to properly stretch her legs, and daily trips to the water pump weren't enough. “Besides, it’s not as if your being here makes me heal any faster. You’re not confined to these four walls, take advantage of it.”

Haytham’s insistence led to a sort of nonverbal, eyes-only conversation between himself and the woman, and soon enough she sighed in surrender. 

“Fine. But not for too long.” She conceded and Connor hid his satisfaction. Getting Beth away from his father would give him the chance to ask questions he may not otherwise be able to. She was certainly the more personable and forthcoming of the pair.

 

Of course, he didn’t jump into anything right away. It took a good ten minutes of them walking the trails before she finished asking about the trip that led to Haytham’s injuries, and another fifteen until they stopped talking about Assassin-Templar business completely. But by the time they reached the river, she finally mellowed out. 

“The summers here are somewhat cooler.” She mentioned while plopping down on a sun-warmed rock. “But having a home so close to the city is nice. In Virginia it was almost an hours ride before you reached town. I couldn’t imagine making that trip with Toby.”

“I take it he can be a handful?” Connor asked while sitting beside her.

“In ways you’d never expect. Though he’s usually on good behavior like he was when you visited. I know you might not believe it, but your father really is a good influence on that boy.” 

Instead of arguing the point, he changed topics completely. “You said something about Virginia?”

“Yes, Haytham owned quite a bit of property there a few years ago. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he still did.”

“And you lived there with him?”

His inquisitiveness made her smile. “I did. It was actually my first home in the colonies, and I even received most of my education there…” She mused and let her hand dangle down into the running water. “I’ve known your father for a _very_ long time.”

“So then why aren’t you married?”

“What?” Connor’s forwardness caught her off guard and ripped her attention away from the river. “Why aren’t _we_ married? Haytham and I?”

“Yes.”

“Well I suppose the simple answer is that he never asked.” Beth shrugged. “No proposal, no marriage.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Does it bother _you_?”

The Assassin shifted uncomfortably. This was not where he saw this conversation going. “It seems unfair to you. To be living as you are, to be so close to him and yet…” When he trailed off she nodded.

“You certainly aren’t the first to feel that way.” She said and Connor was sure he saw her jaw clench for a fleeting second. “Does it irk me that I am unmarried in a society where every other woman my age _is_? Of course. Being left out is not enjoyable. Am I bitter because Haytham has not, nor will he _ever_ propose? No. I understand his ultimate reason not to.”

“What reason would that be?”

“Freedom.” She said with a slight laugh as if it were an inside joke. “Marriage is an unbreakable bond, and while the life your father leads would make me a widow sooner than most, he doesn’t like feeling as if I’m forcibly tethered to him. You’d think by now he would realize that I’m with him because I want to be. But he can be a bit dense at times.” When she stopped rambling it was too stand with a stretch. “Now come along, I want to see this ship of yours that nearly killed the two of you.”

As they headed through the woods again, Connor found himself at an unpleasant mental crossroads. He’d seen the happiness in Haytham’s household. The love. The unity. Killing his father would have repercussions outside of the Templar Order, and while he could easily justify taking a life, could he forgive himself for tearing Beth’s family apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh! So this is late because I'm having a major case of plot-block with almost all of my fan fics. Like, I know where they need to get to, and it's the in-between-parts that are giving me issues. 
> 
> That said, I don't think this chapter is all that terrible. Yeah, it's kind of short, and feels like a bit of a "filler" to me, but I've wanted Connor to ask about the lack of matrimony for a while, so here it is!


End file.
